60: Of the Flux and Other Forces
by cali-chan
Summary: "Fine, Benson. It's a date." Wait a second... Did she just say... DATE?


**Of the Flux and other forces**

**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
**Rating:** PG-13.  
**Genre:** Friendship, WaFF, humor.  
**Pairings:** Freddie/Sam.  
**Canon/timeline:** Somewhere in-between iBTH and iGAHR. Because, seriously, _iGet Pranky_ needs to be explained somehow.

**Summary:** "Fine, Benson. It's a date." Wait a second... Did she just say... DATE?

.

.

* * *

.

.

Most of the time, the trio preferred to hang out over at Carly's apartment, as Spencer was always so fond of reminding them. This was partly because that's where their studio was, so it was convenient, and partly because it was just a more easygoing environment- of course it would be, there was no Marissa Benson around to lecture them about being too loud, eating junk food or forgetting to use coasters.

However, when it came to playing video games, Freddie had the best setup and they all knew it. Oh, the iCarly studio was well and good for simpler games like _Rockin' Orchestra_ (Carly's favorite), but when it came to real, dedicated, state-of-the-art gaming like _Galaxy Wars: Doppelganger Assault_, Freddie's hyper-speed internet connection and the 50-inch plasma they had in their living room made the experience a thousand times better.

Besides, he wanted to be on his home turf for this one.

Normally, he preferred computer gaming- MMORPGs and such. But he was a huge _Galaxy Wars_ fan and to be honest, the games for the series often let him live out childhood fantasies, even though he would never, _ever_, admit this out loud. He now owned several games for several gaming platforms, all of which he loved, and when he heard _Doppelganger Assault_ would be released soon, it was pretty much all he could talk about for a good couple of months, he was so excited.

Woe betide him when he finally bought the game and it turned out that Sam Puckett- she who hated nerdy things of all shapes and sizes, Sam Puckett; _his personal nemesis_, Sam Puckett- managed to beat him at it not once, not twice, but _every_ time they played.

Sam beat him. In a _Galaxy Wars_ game. It was pretty much the nerd equivalent of the universe _spitting_ at him!

True to her horrible self, she took delight in gloating and being smug about it every time they were in the same room without extraneous ears listening in. (She would never admit to anyone that she'd actually played those games. As it was, she still maintained she'd only done it because humiliating dorks was just that much fun).

Freddie, who by then was sure his dignity had waved him goodbye and escaped to Rio, was near breaking point. So he did what any self-respecting geek would do: he researched- looked up walk-throughs, cheat codes, alternate scenarios, the works- and tried to learn the game inside out, upside down, until he was sure nobody in the world knew more about that game than he did, and there was no possible way she could ever beat him in a rematch.

Which brought them to their current position.

Taking advantage of the fact that his mother had the afternoon shift at the hospital, they'd taken over the Bensons' living room for the moment. He didn't dare risk doing this while his mother was home, because he knew the more Sam got into the game, the more detailed her expletives became, and his mother would probably forbid him from hanging out with her and Carly if she ever heard some of the stuff that could come out of her mouth.

They'd been at it for about three hours by then, the very definition of intensity as they started to get more and more in the zone. Carly had fallen asleep a while back, sitting on the floor with her head resting against the seat of their couch. How she managed to stay asleep when they were making so much noise, they didn't know. Sam actually had to watch herself a few times so she wouldn't accidentally step on her best friend when she started jumping around.

He'd found, however, that the more things started to go down for her game-wise, the quieter Sam became. It was an interesting detail to know. By the time they reached the last level (the Jeith temple on planet Badoo), he couldn't hear anything from her save for some mumbling and the occasional "Shit!" whenever she got hit by the Jeith doppelganger army. She was losing- _badly_- and she knew it. When his lasersword finally cut off the Dark Deathbringer's head in a swing that would end the game right then and there, her jaw was clenched tighter than the gates of Fort Knox.

"YESSSSSS!" He threw his hands up and waved them around for a few seconds, finally bringing one down to point in her direction, controller and all. "I WIN, YOU LOSE! You _LOSE_, Puckett! HAH!" He contemplated doing a little victory dance. Would that be too over-the-top?

Sam let out a scoff, her tightly-controlled dark glare at him never wavering. "Yeah, dance it up, geek boy. Not like I didn't beat you _six times _before. This must be some kind of fluke."

"No no!" he interjected, once again pointing her way with the controller, a smug smirk coloring his expression. He had her now. There was nothing she could say to get around this one. "No fluke! We _said_ this would be the only valid result. You can't fall back on the previous times anymore. You _agreed_."

He shook his head with a grin, congratulating himself for a job well done, and for coming up with a wager so smart, so excellent, she was sure to learn that you don't mess with Freddie Benson and get away with it just like that. Not without _some_ sort of personal suffering. "You're coming with me to the _Galaxy Wars_ convention next Saturday. There is _no way _you're getting out of that, you demon." He paused, his grin turning somewhat evil. "Hmmm. I wonder if my old Ben-Dur Ganowi costume still fits me?"

Her lips tightened and the intensity of the glare she leveled at him might win an award if there was ever a glare contest. He wondered if she was contemplating clocking him in the jaw- he was a bit scared she would, but in his opinion it would be totally worth it. He got her! He got her gooooood! A couple seconds later she let out a huff, and rolled her eyes at him. "_Fine_, Benson," she started, tone clipped. "It's a date." She turned around, roughly giving her back to him in a flurry of blonde curls that almost hit him in the face, and dropping her own controller on the couch, she knelt down to poke at their sleeping friend's shoulder. "Carls. Carly. Game's over, let's go back to your place."

The brunette woke up after a few more tries and got up, sleepily muttering questions about whether they had fun and who won the game. He didn't hear the blonde's reply, as they both walked out the door without looking back at him, except for a small, not-quite-well-directioned wave from Carly.

Still feeling a little breathless from laughing so hard, Freddie let himself fall on the couch, his eyes skimming over the ending video that was now playing on the TV- he'd been so engrossed in rubbing his victory in Sam's face that he'd forgotten about the end credits. He quite liked this particular video. He picked up his glass of water from the coffee table (he was glad he'd remembered to use a coaster because all the ice had melted by then, leaving behind a pool of condensation that was thankfully held by the blue plastic) and took a gulp of it, refreshing his throat, which was a bit sore from screaming so much. And that's when it hit him.

Wait a second... did she just say... _DATE?_

Surely it was a slip-up. A figure of speech. She didn't mean it that way, obviously. Of course it wasn't a date; they'd simply made a bet, and now she had to pay up her side of the bargain. Which involved her spending an entire afternoon at the upcoming _Galaxy Wars_ convention. With him. As in, just the two of them. On their own.

...Oh God, he had a date with Sam Puckett.

.

.

.

.

He would've liked to say he didn't freak out, but even one whole week away, Saturday seemed to be looming over him. So many things could happen- or more specifically, so many things could go catastrophically wrong. For him, mainly. He hardly knew how to treat Sam under normal circumstances (or as normal as they got with them), so needless to say he had no idea how to treat her in a _date_ situation. Date. More like DOOM as far as he was concerned.

The first couple of days, whenever he was around her, he found himself being very quiet, and clearing his throat a lot to cover up that silence. Whenever he did speak, it somehow came out in the form of questions- even Carly gave him weird looks from time to time. Thankfully, Sam remained her usual abrasive self. That's what convinced him, really...

They were having lunch in the cafeteria. He hadn't meant to make things awkward, really, but the whole date thing made him uncomfortable. The fact that he kept sneaking glances at Sam every few seconds didn't help either. Finally she had enough of it. "Alright, what up with you, Twitchy?" she asked him, harshly.

"Nothing," he replied quickly, a bit taken aback.

She didn't buy it. "That's crap. Something's got your knickers in a twist."

By now even Carly was wondering if something was happening. "What's going on?" she asked them both, curious, as she took a bite of her chicken.

Freddie groaned. He knew they wouldn't let go of it now. "Nothing, it's just..." He fiddled with the bun of his tofu burger for a bit. "I've been thinking about our bet," he looked in Sam's direction, "and this whole Galaxy Con thing, and well..." He cringed. She would kill him for even suggesting this, he was sure. "...Doesn't it seem a little... I don't know... date... ish...?" he finished, hesitantly. He was at the ready to dodge anything that might be thrown his way in the next couple of seconds.

She made a face. "Ew, no!" she exclaimed, sounding thoroughly grossed out. In all honesty that's what he had wanted to hear, but was that "ew" bit really necessary? Simply saying "no" would have sufficed, but she just could never miss a chance to offend him, could she?

At the same time, Carly snapped her head toward Sam like she'd been shocked with electricity. "You're going on a date?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"NO!" Sam repeated, an angry frown marring her expression.

Carly was not satisfied. She snapped her head toward Freddie instead. "Do you two _want _to go on a date?" she asked.

"No!" he responded from his very gut, waving his hands as if begging her to let him explain. "I was just saying that it may _look_ that way to other people," he clarified. "You know, since we're going by ourselves and I'm buying the tickets- because _you_ obviously won't pay for yours," he added in a mutter, staring daggers at her. She retained the same expression she had previously, like his words just bounced off of her.

"Oh, get over yourself, Fredullah!" Sam interrupted him, almost in a growl. "It's not a date! Who'd want to date _you_ anyway?" She signaled toward him like one might point at a slug that had to be stomped on, and scowled darkly. "The very idea makes me sick to my stomach." Of course, right after she said this she pulled her basket of fries toward her and stuffed a bunch of them in her mouth.

He glared at her. "Well, _you_ were the one who called it a date in the first place!" he reminded her not-so-gently.

Carly was whipping her head from one to the other like this was a tennis match. Luckily lunch in the cafeteria was usually pretty loud, and seeing them argue wasn't a particularly odd sight, so it's not like they had to worry about being overheard and having nosy people starting rumors. Sam frowned. "What? No, I didn't! When did I say that?"

"Last week!" he exclaimed. "When I reminded you about our bet, you said 'Fine, Benson, it's a date'!" he spat out. He was not in the wrong here! He even tried to imitate her tone back then, but as his voice was much deeper than hers, it didn't really work, and all it did was make her even angrier.

It only took her a second to remember, and then she rolled her eyes at him. "It's an expression, _stupid!_" she retorted, basically fuming.

"Guys, guys!" Carly exclaimed, trying to break up the argument before it could escalate into hair pulling or a food fight. "You know, you don't have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable. I'm sure Freddie can come up with something else to fulfill your side of the wager..."

Freddie thought for a second of begging Carly, yet again, to come with them to the convention. They could use a buffer, for sure. However, she'd already refused the first time he asked her, and by now he knew she'd made plans with Spencer that afternoon (apparently they needed a new water filter- Freddie didn't even want to know what Spencer had done to the previous one) so she wouldn't be able to make it anyway, even if she _had_ been interested in _Galaxy Wars_ on some level. Which she wasn't. So he didn't ask.

Sam shook her head, jaw tense. "No. We're going. I don't back down on bets. But," she leaned forward and narrowed her eyes at Freddie, as if she wanted to make her following point very, very clear, even if he had to read her lips to get it right. "It is _not _a date," she reiterated.

He threw her a similar look right back. "Of course it's not a date." Feeling rather vindicated, he picked up his tofu burger and took a big bite of it, chewing with the utmost determination (if one could really chew in that fashion).

Then Sam smirked. He should've known something was about to go terribly wrong.

"I mean, I wouldn't pour three spoonfuls of hot sauce on your tofu burger if I wanted to date you, right?"

As he desperately reached for whichever water bottle was closest to him (it was actually Sam's), Carly sighed and shook her head, a bit overwhelmed. "This is going to be a disaster..." she muttered under her breath. Freddie thought it summed up his thoughts about next Saturday pretty accurately.

.

.

.

.

He couldn't help but wonder what on Earth he'd been thinking when he set a visit to the _Galaxy Wars_ convention as Sam's dare if she lost their bet. Obviously, he had wanted to come up with the most horrible form of torture he could muster for her- and spending seven to eight hours in the most nerdy place outside Bill Gates' house was pretty much a guarantee that she'd suffer. And he was going to the Con anyway, so that was convenient. He could be there to rub it in a little more.

But he'd never even thought of how that setup could be interpreted. Not to mention, because she was still ticked off she lost to him, and he'd managed to piss her off even more with the whole "date" argument, she was clearly going to be the most uncooperative companion ever; she would insult people, pick fights, be overall nasty and get them kicked out of the convention. He'd effectively punished himself by coming up with this wager. Note to self: Think things through a little better. Now he could only hope she'd have a fit of generosity and _not_ruin the convention for him.

Yeah, tough luck.

Saturday finally rolled around, and he decided he would take things as they came. He couldn't back out now- not without her gaining back the upper hand- so he'd just try to have a good time, regardless of Sam's mood. If she turned out to be feeling charitable, he would simply enjoy the convention. If she woke up that day feeling mean, well, he had signed his own death warrant. What's done is done.

He walked up to the main entrance of the Seattle Downtown Convention Center, eying the long line of people around the building, many of them wearing costumes, all of them excited to get in. Part of him was sure Sam would skip out on him; it's not like he was forcing her to be here or anything. But then he spotted her familiar curly blonde hair near the main gates, where she was standing, arms crossed in an impatient fashion. She was waiting for him; he had the tickets.

She raised an eyebrow at him as he approached her. "I know your plan is to kill me by nerd overdose, but did ya have to bring a fanny pack?" she asked, pointing to the small blue bag that was currently clasped around his waist with some measure of disgust.

"Hello, Sam. How are you doing, Sam," he quipped, trying to sound amiable. There was no point in letting her insults get to him this early on in the day. They still had quite a ways to go. "Consider yourself lucky; I could've worn my Master Joma ears instead." He discreetly pointed in the direction of some guy in his forties who had a pair of green, pointy plastic ears on his head. Sam caught sight of it, and cringed.

"Besides," he continued, "I needed a bag to hold my money. There's an auction at four and they're selling off a real, small scale-model of the Centennial Eagle used in the movie for the green screen scenes, and it's autographed by Garrison Fern _and_ Bob Mulkis, aka the creator and _God_ of everything _Galaxy Wars_." He could see by her bored expression she couldn't be any less interested, but he didn't care. He was really excited about this. "I've been saving up money for eight months and I am _so_ winning that auction."

She took one look down at the fanny pack, then back at him. "How much money are we talking about here?"

He gave her a half smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Instead of telling her, he pulled their tickets out of his pocket and offered one to her. She snatched it out of his hand and marched on toward the entrance, muttering something about "getting this over with" under her breath.

.

.

.

.

He had expected her to complain loudly and drag her feet the entire afternoon. He wasn't, however, expecting her to drag _him_ to every food stand in the place. He knew she'd get hungry at some point- this _was_ Sam after all- but he didn't think she'd want to try one of everything. Apparently the weird names of _Galaxy Wars_-lore food made her curious to see if all that stuff tasted as bad as it sounded... which, thankfully, nothing did.

He had to admit, he got a kick out of "translating" the names for her: it gave him something to practice his GW knowledge on, and it kept her from insulting him or mistreating him, because his geekiness did come in handy for something.

Unfortunately, their tour of the food stands did not allow him much time to browse around. He did manage to buy a couple of things while she was eating: a glow-in-the-dark "May the Flux be with you" t-shirt, a couple of animation cells and a graphic novel... he'd tried to buy some action figures that were missing from his collection, but Sam dragged him away from that particular stand like they were spreading the plague. Apparently, buying action figures was the nerdiest thing one could do, even within Nerdland. Go figure.

Her stomach satiated, she was a lot more amenable to the different things to do at the event. She flat-out refused to go to the panel where the Assistant Art Director for Episode III was talking about the special effects used in the movie, even when he offered to go by himself, but once they walked past an area geared more toward little children, she was more than happy to utterly trounce him in a game of "Whack a Mew-wok." He didn't mind; he'd already had his victory and to be honest, it was kind of funny to see her put so much effort into it. "Coooome to Mama, you annoying, useless little fluff ball. Sammy's got a little whackin' here for you..." He couldn't help but find it hilarious.

After a while of that, though, he looked down at his watch and did a double take. "Okay, we gotta go, Sam."

She looked in his direction for a second before bringing her gaze back down to the game, and swinging the plastic mallet down hard on the poor, unsuspecting Mew-wok that had just peeked out of one of the holes. "What's the rush?" she asked. Apparently she really liked the game- it seemed like a productive use of her insane strength.

"The auction, remember?" he explained. "It's a quarter to four, and we have to find the place first. We should get going now, if we don't want to get lost."

"We have time," was her distracted reply. She didn't bother looking at him again, intent as she was to catch the last two Mew-woks before the game was over. "It's near the north entrance anyway."

"Really? And how do you know that?" He was curious as to how she was so sure.

"There's a sign right there, next to that giant Fuzzana poster," she answered, waving to her right dismissively. He took a peek and sure enough, there was a huge poster of Dan Rolo's sidekick hanging from the wall, and right beside it there was a smaller sign that proclaimed, in bold letters, "AUCTION SITE NEAR NORTH ENTRANCE." Well. Of course that's where it was.

He was pleasantly surprised, both by the fact that she'd remembered the auction and took notice of the sign, and that he knew the name of the character in the poster. She had played the GW games with him more than once, and had been surrounded by GW paraphernalia pretty much all day, yet she kept calling Mark Starrunner, _the main character of the series_, "that dude with the pansy-ass voice."

She swung down once, twice, and then music coming from the machine signaled she'd completed the critter-whacking exercise. With a satisfied smirk at her score, she turned to catch him still looking at her. "What?" she asked, a bit defensive. Apparently she knew just what he'd been thinking. "I know who Fuzzy is. I've seen the movies; _everybody_ has. I just don't have wet dreams about them every night like _some _people."

Freddie frowned, and stifled the urge to retort that they're NOT wet dreams thank you very much, just _regular _dreams, and instead stayed silent because, really, just the thought of Sam and wet dreams in the same sentence was enough to blow his mind to smithereens. Better stay as far away from that topic as humanly possible.

"So, are we going or not?"

.

.

.

.

To say that the auction site was crowded would be an understatement. It seemed like every single person that attended the convention had converged right then and there, in that one little corner of the building, either to watch the event or participate.

He tightened his hold on the little wooden sign that proudly demonstrated that he was bidder #437, and tried not to let any weird thoughts get into his head- especially thoughts concerning Sam and the way he was pretty much pressed against her from chest to knee. They'd been conscious to stay at least three feet away from each other at all times because of the whole "is this a date" debacle (unless Sam felt the need to hit him for some reason, that is), but in this crowd that was impossible. So at some point she pushed past him so she could see the podium in front, and now her back was pressed against his front and her hair, which oddly smelled like honey, was tickling his neck. But he really shouldn't be thinking about that, because he had to focus. This was a quick auction; he couldn't lose his focus.

Three thousand, five hundred and seventy-nine dollars with thirteen cents. That was how much money he'd managed to save up, through eight months of not spending one dime of his allowance unless it was strictly necessary, doing extra chores at home (his Mom believed any job should earn at the very least minimum wage and in this case he _so_did not feel guilty for sucking those $7.25 an hour from his poor, hardworking, obsessive-compulsive mother), babysitting his cousin Stephanie (who only seemed to find him more and more boring the more and more she grew up), tutoring at school and a small, word-of-mouth computer repair venture among his classmates.

He'd had to put in a great effort, that was for sure. He knew actual props from the first series of movies went for a lot of money, because they'd been safeguarded for so long, and even more so if they were autographed. He hoped it was enough, because he really, _really_ wanted this. So much.

The auction started at four sharp, and he quickly got the hang of things. The announcer would describe an item in detail, then proceed to rapidly name prices, to which participants would raise their little signs in the air to indicate they were bidding for that price. Once the announcer named a price and nobody rose to bid, whomever had bid the next highest price would take the item home. Fairly basic.

They were auctioning off all kinds of things, from VIP tours at the _Galaxy Wars_ museum in Los Angeles, to a pair of shoes Jessica Beckman aka Princess Arinada wore in the _Invisible Threat_ movie, to dozens of other props and models. He was only interested in the Centennial Eagle, though, which wasn't the most expensive item by any stretch of the imagination, but it was his dream buy. He mostly just watched. As did Sam, who was contentedly munching on some popcorn (or, to be precise, "Intergalactic Boombeats") and periodically rolling her eyes as the crowd went "Ooh!" and "Aah!" when the announcer described a particularly coveted item.

Finally, the moment came. "And here we have an authentic, small-scale model of the Centennial Eagle, Dan Rolo's famous ship. This model was actually used to film scenes, many of which you can find in the theatrical release of the original trilogy as well as the DVD extras. A true collector's item. One of a kind. But that's not all! No, this particular model is also autographed by Garrison Fern, our very own Dan Rolo, and _also_ by the creator and executive producer of _Galaxy Wars_, as well as the director of Episodes I, II, II and IV: Bob Mulkis!"

The crowd broke into applause, as expected, and Sam shook her head. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. "Hey, isn't this the one you wanted?"

For a second he could only gulp. "Yeah," he all but croaked, throat suddenly dry. He had the suspicion from the way she was frowning at him that his face had gone pale.

Bidding started and he rushed to keep up. Several people were participating, bids moving up quickly as the interested parties warred for the model. By the time they got up to around fifteen hundred, though, things started to taper down a little, as several bidders started to drop out of the race. By two thousand bucks, it was only him and two other guys, both of which were standing toward the front, near the podium.

"Twenty-three hundred!" went the announcer, and one of the guys hurried to raise his sign. Freddie made sure to raise his own when twenty-five hundred was called out; the third guy failed to raise his sign on time, but it wouldn't happen again when the bid rose to twenty-seven fifty.

One of the two had dropped out by the time they reached three thousand. Freddie was getting nervous; did he have enough? He was nearing his max. "Thirty-three hundred!" came the announcement, and he quickly lifted his sign. No good, as the other guy lifted his own to the call of thirty-five hundred, and Freddie knew, he just _knew_, he was screwed. "Thirty-five fifty!" He raised his sign. Predictably, the other man raised his own at thirty-six hundred.

Freddie looked at Sam, desperate. "Do you have any money? I'll pay you back, I swear."

She shrugged. "Nope. Sorry."

He looked at her like she had just grown a second head. "Who comes to a convention without any money?" he let out, absolutely dumbfounded. Only Sam, obviously.

"Well, it's not like I was expecting to buy anything here! It's all geek stuff!" she exclaimed as a defense. He groaned, and over the sound of his frustration they clearly heard the announcer request thirty-six fifty. No signs were raised. "Do you want me to knock that other dude out with the sign?" Sam asked him, grabbing the wooden contraption from Freddie's hand and waving it around a little, as if she was attempting to convince him.

"No! Sam!" he exclaimed back, in disbelief. To be honest he wouldn't be opposed to it on a personal level (that jerk _stole_ his Centennial Eagle model!), but he was sure it would get them kicked out and losing the model was bad enough; no need to add assault charges and possibly a stint in juvie to that.

Too late; the announcer already announced bidder #251 as the winner of the Centennial Eagle model, and Freddie could only wallow in utter disappointment. He looked at Sam, crestfallen. "Sorry," she told him with a shrug, and he knew she didn't really _get _it, but he was appreciative at least she wasn't pouring salt on the wound. "We gonna stay for the rest?"

He contemplated it for a second, but then shook his head with a sigh. "Nah, let's just go." He paused for a beat, staring at the half-consumed bucket of popcorn on Sam's hands. "Let's get something to eat." He wasn't really feeling hungry (it was only around five thirty still), but he wanted to just sit down and not do much of anything for a little while.

She gave him a blank look, took a handful of popcorn up to her mouth, and shrugged again. "Sure. Pizza?"

.

.

.

.

Freddie sat at a small table in front of the pizza stand, people walking in one direction or the other all around him. Every once in a while he would take a bite out of his pepperoni and mushroom slice, but mostly he was picking at it, and drinking enough Peppy Cola to kill an elephant from hyperglycemia. He figured he needed the jolt- he was feeling anything but peppy at the moment.

Sam was off... somewhere. She'd downed her own food with her usual gusto (he could not believe she was still hungry after all the stuff she'd eaten already) and then for a while tried to goad him into an argument about how useless the "white bucketheads" (aka the Imperial Battalion) were as marksmen- something he appreciated, really, because he could see it was her way to try and make him forget about the auction. It didn't work very well, though. Then at one point she paused, stared at something behind him, and got up, muttering something about napkins.

He hadn't seen her in a while, and he was curious as to where she'd run off to because it certainly didn't take this long to get napkins, but whatever. She was a big girl. It's not like she would be attacked by a bunch of nerds or anything- if anything, he'd be more worried about the nerds themselves ending up in a ditch somewhere.

When she finally made her way back, she plopped down unceremoniously in the chair in front of him, looking at him with a bored expression. "Where were you?" he asked as he finally polished off the last of his pizza slice. She didn't answer, her expression didn't change; she just waved a piece of paper in front of his face. He looked at it for a second in confusion, then grabbed it from her. "This certificate guarantees that Mr. Fredward Benson, in his status as bidder #251 in the Galaxy Con: Seattle Auction for the benefit of Seattle Children's Hospital..." He frowned. "I'm not bidder #251," he let out. What was going on here?

"Keep reading, nub," was all Sam said. She appeared intent on seeming both completely disinterested in whatever he was reading, while at the same time extremely excited for it. Only someone as messed up in the head as Sam could feel both things at the same time, he figured.

He kept reading. "...has made the highest bid for item #96, an autographed small-scale model of the Centennial Eagle ship used in the _Galaxy Wars _movies, and as such is now the owner of said item as per the terms of the event..." His eyes widened more, the further he read. "...Will be shipped to the address provided below between the dates of..." He stopped and looked at her, his eyes as big as saucers. "That is my address. What- this is real. This isn't a joke?" To say he was shocked would be to state the obvious.

She shrugged at him, lips pursed as if she were trying to stop herself from smiling. Or smirking, whichever it was. "Not a joke," she let him know, leaning back on her chair and crossing her arms in the picture of smug satisfaction. "That dude agreed to let you have the model. You just gotta give him the money and it's yours."

Hearing that, he glared at her. "I don't have that much money. You know that, it's why I lost it in the first place!" What had she gotten him into?

"Chill," she started, with a roll of her eyes. "That Mortimer dude said he'd chip in the last $50. He doesn't mind since it's for charity anyway," she added dismissive. Then she frowned. "Who names their kid Mortimer, anyway?" she wondered, randomly.

Freddie could not process the information fast enough. His mind got stuck somewhere around "You win the small-scale model" and hadn't sped up as of yet. "I just- I mean, wow. I can't believe I actually own the model. Thanks. This is amazing. How did you even manage to convince him anyway?" Dark possibilities suddenly crossed his mind (this was Sam, after all) and he narrowed his eyes at her. "Sam, what did you do?"

She rolled her eyes at his suspicion. "I kissed him," she admitted, just like that. Like it was of no consequence. "No big deal, just a peck," she added, as if she suddenly felt the need to qualify it, so he wouldn't get any weird ideas.

He didn't buy it. Threats, bullying, torture- with Sam, "convincing" someone always sounded more like "coercion." But kissing? He was aware he was horrible for being so willing to think the worst of her instead of a more positive possibility, but there was a funny feeling tugging at the bottom of his stomach that was pulling him toward any _other _explanation. "You kissed him." He raised an eyebrow at her, skeptical. "And he just gave it to you?" He shook his head. "There's gotta be more to it than that."

She huffed, now getting defensive. "What? It's a good offer. Have you seen the guy? It's not like he'll ever be kissed again in his life!"

Good point. But still. "He was willing to pay thirty-six hundred dollars for it. That's a lot of money, Sam."

Sam waved his question off, like it was nothing. "Well, thirty-six hundred bucks don't seem like that much once he also shelled out fifteen grand for spending a day with Bob Mulkis." She shook her head. "Obviously, the model wasn't what he really wanted from the auction."

Freddie did a double-take. "They were auctioning a day with Bob Mulkis?" He groaned. "Aw, I _knew_ we should've stayed to see the rest of the auction..." How had he not known about that? Bob Mulkis was his ultimate hero; if he had known, he would've worked twice as many chores... babysat all his cousins... sold himself into slavery...

Sam flicked him on the forehead to stop his mind from wandering off into Geek Heaven. "Focus, Freddie-Lynn."

"Right," he shook his head as if to clear it. "Well..." He couldn't believe she had really kissed some guy to get the model. Um, wow. "So, what, have you just made it a habit of going around giving nerds pity first kisses?" he asked with a small- yet awkward- chuckle.

"Well, I didn't do it for _him_."

Something in the way she said that hit him straight in the chest. She wasn't looking at him; she was looking down, trying to pick the bits of cheese that had gotten stuck to the Celestial Destroyer-shaped piece of carton that had previously held his slice of pizza. And yet, he couldn't look away from her face.

She had done this for him. Obviously, he knew that already, but... he hadn't really _known_. But he did now. Sam, who did not care in the slightest about _Galaxy Wars_, who would not be here at all if it was up to her, had actually gone out of her way to get him that small-scale model. And she'd done it for him. Because she saw how disappointed he was that he had lost it. Because she knew how important it was to him. She'd done something genuinely nice out of the goodness of her heart... for him.

Because she cared.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry all of a sudden. "What about the last time?"

His question prompted her to look up and her gaze met his. It felt like they were staring at each other across the table for a long time, neither of them knowing quite what to say, or maybe both of them certain that nothing needed to be said. For two people who argued and fought as much as they did, they had a lot of moments like these, he realized. And it was in these moments that he could see, despite everything, they _both_ cared.

The corners of her lips drew up in the beginnings of a smirk, and not for the first time he wished he could know what she was thinking. Oh, what he wouldn't give. "...So, what else is there to do in this nerdfest?" she asked, finally popping that stubborn piece of cheese in her mouth.

You'd think he'd be offended by the term, but instead it made him laugh. After a full day of them, he'd begun to find the nerd jokes funny, himself. That was just the way she was, and anyway, he'd rather have this: her familiar teasing, joking... but ultimately having fun. He gave her question some thought. "Let's see... do you know what a lasersword competition is?"

"Does it involve me hitting geeks on the head with neon-colored plastic tubes while they cry about the Flux being stronger in a girl?"

"Yup."

She grinned, brilliantly. "Then lead the way, good sir!"

.

.

.

.

It was around nine o'clock when they made it back to Bushwell.

Freddie held the auction certificate delicately, like it was his ticket to heaven; he'd never been more glad to be out of three thousand dollars in his life. Sam carried a two-and-a-half-foot tall Master Joma stuffed toy in her arms; Freddie had bought it for her, finally relenting after much prodding and insistence that it was the least he could do, given that she'd gotten him his stupid small-scale model, so he owed her big. He wouldn't have minded so much, if she hadn't put him to the ground when he made the mistake of suggesting if she loved Master Joma so much, maybe she had a bit of geek in her, too.

She stood by Carly's door as he fished his keys out of his pocket. Once he unlocked the door, he turned to say goodbye. "So, see you," he let out. She nodded his way with a grunt- quintessential Sam way of wishing farewell, of course. With a roll of his eyes he opened the door and took a step in before deciding otherwise and popping his head back out. "Hey, Sam."

She turned to him, probably still wondering what was taking Carly so long. "Yeah?"

He smiled at her. "I had a good time today," he admitted. And it was true. What started as nothing but a dare, a way for him to get even with her, had turned out to be quite a nice experience. He felt he should let her know that. "We should do this again, sometime."

She scoffed, of course, but she was clearly amused. "No, thanks, Bensonite. I've had enough _Galaxy Wars _to last me a lifetime."

He laughed, shaking his head. Figures she'd say that. "No, I meant us hanging out together." He cocked his head to the side a bit as he regarded her. "I was sure we would kill each other within the hour, but I actually thought it was fun. Don't you think?"

"Eh," she started, taking a step forward. He could see from the crinkle on the corner of her lips that she was just teasing him, though. "Guess it wasn't so bad," she admitted, and he was sure that was the most he was going to get from her on the matter. Her smile was enough to tell him what she really meant, anyway.

He took a step forward himself, hooking his thumbs in his jean's pockets, with his keys jingling as they dangled from his hand. "Maybe next time we could do something you like instead." He paused, and thought about that offer for a second. "As long as it's not illegal, of course," he corrected himself quickly.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You payin'?"

He was shaking his head before she even finished asking. "Nope."

She hit him with Master Joma. "Loser." He laughed. Getting hit with a plushie instead of her fist; it was a nice change.

They stood there for a little bit, not saying much. In the back of his mind Freddie wondered if maybe this did feel a little bit like a date after all, but didn't dwell on it much. It may look like it to an outsider: lingering in the hall, them standing so close to each other and smiling. But to Freddie, that was just him and Sam. The _good_ side of him and Sam, as opposed to the usual, but still him and Sam. Part of him wanted Carly to take her time on getting to the door because he liked this, the way they were right now. He could get used to this.

But of course, at that moment the Shays' door opened behind Sam and they both turned to look at Carly, clad in her bathrobe and slippers, with her hair wet. "Hi, guys. Sorry, I was taking a shower," she apologized for taking so long to answer the door. "So, did you guys have fun? How was the convention?"

Sam snorted. "Full of nerds!" She exclaimed. Turning around without so much as a wave, she sauntered past Carly and into the apartment, Master Joma plushie carelessly swinging from back to front as she held it by the tip of its pointy ear. Carly shook her head with a chuckle, in that typical "Oh, Sam" fashion of hers, and letting Freddie know they'd see him tomorrow, she bid him goodbye warmly.

He waited until the door closed behind them, then walked into his apartment with a smile.


End file.
